Monday, May 07, 2007

"Better Than Brazil" is in Erotic Tales 2!

I've always loved working with Justus Roux -- she's an incredibly good editor. I was happy to work with her again in Erotic Tales 2, where she has included my story "Better Than Brazil."

A good bit of excerpt, perhaps? Here you go:

They made love that night over the telephone. It was a series of words and suggestions that became a blur of sensation. Angela was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t realize how far across that line they had stepped until he murmured, “Come, and I will come with you.”

And they did.

The next day she looked Brazil up on the map. It was in South America, a place she had never been. They were at war there, weren’t they? War with everything, but the only things that came to mind were drug lords with big houses and Lear jets and fast boats that made their way up the Mexican coast. Brazil hosted the Amazon. She spent a whole day reading about it, about the River basin and the favelas and the political unrest. She was interested because Ronaldo was a part of it but more importantly, it was a part of Ronaldo.

He was in that country right now. But he would be back, and she would be here. In the meantime she had his letters, those finely printed pages that she had folded so many times, they had permanent creases that pulled the notes closed when she wasn’t holding them in her hands. She had those letters and those memories of his voice rolling over the phone line. It would have to be enough.

When the phone rang late at night two days later, the last thing she expected was Ronaldo’s voice. It was filled with laughter and that usual glimmer of mischief.

“Are you having a good time?” she asked with smile.

“Open your door,” he said.

Angela swung around in her chair and looked at the window. A shadow fell across it. Her heart leapt into her throat, just as it had when she read that letter. She stared at the shadow, at the broad swath it cut across the blinds.

“Angela. Please,” he said softly.

His skin was bronze under the porch light. He was shorter than she expected. His eyes were darker than they had seemed in the pictures. His hair wasn’t quite as long and his smile wasn’t quite as broad, but it was Ronaldo. He slowly flipped the cell phone closed and slipped it into the pocket of his soft leather jacket. His eyes never left hers.